


Rebuilding Burned Bridges

by mayachain



Series: Bridges-Verse [1]
Category: X-Men (Movieverse)
Genre: College, Friendship/Love, Future Fic, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-03-06
Updated: 2009-12-29
Packaged: 2017-10-05 10:59:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 7,854
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/41058
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mayachain/pseuds/mayachain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five years after Alkali Lake, Bobby has taken time off from X-Men duty and gone to college. While an unexpected attack by the Brotherhood leads the government to double their efforts to find a permanent cure for the X-gene, St John finds that you cannot burn all your bridges without rebuilding some.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Burning

**Author's Note:**

> References to extreme violence in the past to come.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A hospital burns.

  


* * *

St John quenches the fire before he turns his back on the corridor, because while _The Brotherhood was here_ is the message to be sent (along with _stop the experiments_ and an ashen, screaming _FUCK YOU_), it will be easier on everyone if the humans outside the building don't actually get it before they're gone. Inside, there isn't anyone left in condition to blab. Not a sound, not even a sob, nothing left to do here save sauntering out.

A casual walk later he opens the door to the car Magneto parked in front of the hospital a mere half hour ago, starts the engines and lets the wheels roll gently through gates that don't look the least bent out of shape, not yet a reason for random passers-by to come investigating. The portiere is still sitting in his little hut; whether he's alive or not, St John doesn't know.

A soot-covered hand is raised in greeting at Madrox, who is straddling the motorbike St John drove here, and a salute flashed via the front lights at a small truck, behind the blackened windows of which he can barely make out Magneto. Three vehicles trail after each other for a few moments, then the gate slides closed and they split up, Madrox going left, Magneto straight onward. The next meet-up is scheduled one week from now, two days before the next mission. Watching the others disappear through the side mirror, St John slips a hand into his back pocket and takes out a note, glances at the address jotted down there in Mystique's neat handwriting, sets the blinker to right.

And then he drives.

He drives without taking his eyes off the road for even a second, only taking one sip from one of the bottles Madrox left him on the passenger seat. He pictures the safe house, which he's supposed to have all to himself instead of just the little room he's usually assigned there whenever they're using it for larger meetings before an attack. In his mind, he reviews the books he's got stacked there and only there, which means that due to the paranoid house shuffling scheme he hasn't been able to touch them in, what, almost a year now?

After two hours, the car's automatic system warns him to take a break, but he turns it off, never sparing the display so much as a glance. He ignores the exhaustion beginning to creep through his veins, the aftershock of all the heat he controlled today in order to ensure maximum damage without burning the wrong people, without the walls collapsing around them. Wearily, he thinks of his bed, the reason he hasn't tried pulling rank for a larger room at the place yet; of all the Brotherhood-owned beds he frequents, the single in safehouse eight is his favourite.

He drives, watching the road in front of him unblinkingly, impassively. His body feels overheated, the power behind the final display fully taking its toll now. He longs for the garden, which even has a little pond where annoying, suicidally cute little fish nibble at the toes of anyone bathing their feet.

On and on he drives, never taking his eyes of the road once.

An hour later, he parks the car in front of the campus, retrieves his rucksack and leaves the door unlocked, confident that even in a posh area like this someone will have conveniently vanished it by the time he returns. He doesn't look left or right as his feet take him to the right house, up three flights of stairs, not deterring from their path to one specific door. There are voices he doesn't recognize, someone's exclaiming "…you can't put the figures like that, it'll look confusing" but he's tired and doesn't care and he knocks.

At the sound, the voice inside the little flat stops. There's a short silence, then the shuffling of feet, and a few seconds later St John _(Pyro,_ he thinks, for all the other knows, he's Pyro) stands face to face to Bobby Drake.

  


* * *

* * *

  



	2. Learning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The consuming of water, sandwiches and news.

  


* * *

Blue eyes widen in shock, then harden in the most irritating mixture of apprehension and concern. St John knows there are streaks of soot on his face that he hasn't bothered to wipe away. His clothes smell of smoke, and Iceman doesn't have to be an active X-Man to instantly know where (or whereabouts) he's been. But his hands, now, are free of lighters, matches or contraptions, and there's a very distinctive flicker in the blue eyes as they take that in. The two young men stare at each other, neither of them moving.

After a few moments, Bobby has recovered enough to remember they are not alone. "Guys," he says very quietly, "d'you think you can pull off the rest without me?" White-faced, he barely seems to notice the other students' surprised confirmation, murmurs "take the disk, all my notes are on it" as they gather their things and "ping me" to a tall guy with a streak of red in his blond hair when his study partners shuffle past him, shooting curious and slightly confused looks in St John's direction. Bobby moves slightly out of the way to let them pass, but he never takes his eyes off St John.

Once the others have disappeared down the hallway, Bobby takes a step back, allowing St John to enter the room. Only after he has closed the door and bolted it shut against the sudden arrival of friends or neighbors does he turn away, pours a glass of water and passes it on. Feeling the other's piercing blue eyes search his face, St John takes a sip and vaguely thinks that it's been ages or 247 weeks since anyone got the chill absolutely right. When he notices that the overheated feeling he's had all afternoon is gone, he realizes Bobby also has lowered the temperature inside the room.

Bobby wordlessly hands him one of the sandwiches left on the small kitchen counter and turns to clear off the plates and half-filled cups of coffee his study-group left behind on the sofa. Without needing to be asked he points toward a narrow door, and when St John comes out of the tiny bathroom again, the sofa's been cleared. They eat the sandwiches in absolute silence.

When Bobby emerges from his second coffee-induced trip to the bathroom, St John has slunk further down on the couch and turned on the news. For a fleeting moment, all apprehension in face of the pyrokinetic's sudden arrival is gone and Bobby feels simply annoyed because he usually doesn't touch his television set before nine and now he's missed the beginning. Then he catches

_"…by the mutant terrorist organization known as the Brotherhood"_

and sinks down next to St John, watching the screen with trepidation. An elderly news reporter drones on, but Bobby is listening with Iceman's background knowledge now, and he only needs a few sentences to dismiss the man as talkative but uninformed. He tunes out the raspy voice, draws his knees up to his chin and focuses on what the cameras are actually showing.

\- A hospital, scorched and demolished, stacked with bodies of scientists, doctors, nurses and patients.  
\- Corridors filled with smoke so thick the walls must still be smoldering.  
\- Rooms no longer recognizable as laboratories.  
\- A nursery, full of little children.  
\- A paramedic stating something about only four infants suffering from light smoke poisoning, the twenty-five the only survivors found inside the building, taken care of now and none in danger of permanent damage.  
\- A barely legible placard, displaying the words "negative" and "X-gene testing".  
\- And on the floor, the wall and the ceiling, left there by a blue-hot fire that never reached the human children, something Bobby's mesmerized brain can only describe as a thin, pitch-black, ugly burn mark of doom.  
The image remains frozen on Bobby's mind as the news report goes on and on. Next to him, other than appearing to pay attention in a somewhat detached fashion, St John's expression is impenetrable, showing no reaction.

Eventually, the reporters move on to whatever else has happened this Tuesday. St John reaches for the remote and turns the tiny television off. For long ten (seven? five?) minutes, they just sit on the sofa, neither of them moving. The shrill ring of a phone comes as a shock, and Bobby jumps, recognizing the piercing no-nonsense tune he chose to indicate urgent X-Men business.

St John pretends not to watch as Bobby talks to the enemy's leader, although there's no real need to keep up the act with Bobby pacing behind the couch, his back to him.

"I saw."  
"Who else? Get real."  
"Yes, but are you aware what that means, 'Ro?"  
"Five years. I couldn't possibly say where he'd be moving."  
"That's what you have your contacts for."  
"No. A direct order. It must have been."  
"You planning on going after them?"  
"No, it doesn't change the terms. If you really can't spare me, I'll come in, but if things escalate, 24/7 needs me here."  
"Thanks. I'll stay here, then."  
"You too. Tell Kits I love her."

There is utter and complete silence once Bobby hangs up the phone. For a few moments, Bobby remains a living statue in the middle of the room. St John still debates whether or not to sneak a glance when Bobby suddenly moves to a cupboard to retrieve a tightly-packed sleeping bag and tosses it at his unexpected overnight companion. The clock next to the TV shows barely half past seven, but Bobby still goes to brush his teeth without a second glance at his guest while John is still staring at the insignia-less bag with a slightly dumbfounded expression.

Five minutes later, they're in their respective beds - in John's case, the couch - and the mutant terrorist fugitive feels something he's entirely too worn out to feel when he realizes that Robert Drake hasn't graced him with a single word, but has left one very small and dim bedside lamp on.

  


* * *

* * *

  



	3. Morning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The morning after.

  


* * *

**Traips (12:27 PM) :**  
can we not talk about statistics crap for a sec?  
**Ice24 (12:27 PM) :**  
what?  
**Traips (12:27 PM) :**  
you threw us out. you ok, man?  
**Ice24 (02:27 PM) :**  
fine.  
**Traips (12:28 PM) :**  
the others can't blab, I snapped them.  
**Ice24 (12:28 PM) :**  
...  
**Traips (12:28 PM) :**  
just the soot and smoke bit. am I bugging your ethics again?  
**Ice24 (12:28 PM) :**  
insert lecture here; pot/kettle; thanks.  
**Traips (12:29 PM) :**  
yes, I'm a baaad mu-sician. you're the boss.  
**Traips (12:29 PM) :**  
can't have you arrested, man. 'sides, I trust you to know what you're doing.  
**Ice24 (12:30 PM) :**  
thanks. like I said, I believe I'm doing fine.  
**Ice24 (12:30 PM) :**  
have you seen Stels? can you help her cover for me Friday night?  
**Traips (12:30 PM) :**  
sure thing.  
**Ice24 (12:30 PM) :**  
I'm keeping our heads down. don't come here, but call me if anything gets out of hand.

  


* * *

  


St John is convinced that on a regular day, Bobby would've gone to classes or something, but the following morning, the cryokinetic he imposed himself on yesterday doesn't leave the room. They eat breakfast in silence, and Bobby meticulously reads through the many pages the newspaper has come up with to cover the attack on the hospital. Absently stirring a spoon through a bowl of cereal, he frowns slightly at the outraged and bewildered reports that barely hold more solid information than the previous day's evening news. It takes some time to plough trough it all, and when the lines become a blur between what the authorities think and what the editors think and what might possibly be actually true, Bobby gets up to fetch a pen to take notes.

On the other side of the table, a quiet figure consumes cup after cup of coffee. Maybe there is a flinch whenever Bobby turns a page, but St John doesn't spare one look at the newspaper. Even when Bobby casually places an article that proclaims the infants' survival an outright miracle on the middle of the table, he remains impassive. While Bobby does the dishes, dark eyes are staring at a point on the table a few inches away from it.

Bobby could ask, could try to grill a firsthand witness/perpetrator to find out what was at the hospital, why the Brotherhood was there. He could, but he doesn't, unwilling to risk the fragile whatever-it-was that prompted St John to come here.

Once every trace of breakfast has disappeared, Bobby turns on his computer and types up his notes from the newspaper. The file is then emailed to his twenty-four-seven newsmaster account so that the others may access it. When he is finished, he leans back in his chair and glances over his shoulder and make sure John hasn't actually disappeared. He has not; on the contrary, it appears his once best friend has decided to take permanent residence in the kitchen chair.

Unsure whether or not he should actually feel relieved, Bobby turns back to his screen and works on his study-group's assignment for a while. Eyeing St John carefully to make sure the other doesn't believe he's calling Storm or Logan, he makes a call to clarify a point with one of the other students. Throughout the conversation, he's painfully aware he's speaking to someone who got his short-term memory "snapped" fifteen hours ago. He tries not to feel guilty; Traips is right, no-one can know and making sure no-one does was as necessary as it was a violation.

The figure in the chair behind him doesn't make a sound. While Bobby patiently asks the bloke to please explain his email, yet again, the lack of noise is so poignant he almost wishes he was alone in the room.

Eventually, he flips his phone shut, follows his study group partner's instructions and refreshes the window sporting the college's news discussion site. He carefully reads the newest contributions to what has quickly become a heated debate before sneaking another look at the kitchen table.

St John doesn't seem to have moved, but his fingers have taken up a fiddling motion that used to be a constant in Bobby's dreams for years. With a start, he realizes he hasn't even checked the other for incendiary devices, but from his desk he can see that the pyrokinetic is staring out of the window, turning a simple, green-coloured pen that most definitely is not a lighter over and over in his hand.

  


* * *

  


**Starlady (09:56 AM) :**  
did you see the news? It's getting worse, think there'll be consequences?  
**Ice24 (09:56 AM) :**  
1) yes 2) I hope not. headquarters only know about me,  
**Ice24 (09:56 AM) :**  
will anyone get mad if I lay low for a while?  
**Starlady (09:57 AM) :**  
might be best. I don't want anyone to hurt you.  
**Ice24 (09:57 AM) :**  
they won't. and better me than the rest of you.  
**Starlady (09:57 AM) :**  
our hero. will the raindrops and claws call you in?  
**Ice24 (09:57 AM) :**  
they haven't yet.  
**Starlady (09:57 AM) :**  
...are you worried?  
**Ice24 (09:58 AM) :**  
no, not yet. I'll just keep my head down; suits me fine, got a guest.  
**Starlady (09:58 AM) :**  
who? does he know?  
**Ice24 (09:58 AM) :**  
old friend. you haven't met him. kind of hard not to.  
**Starlady (09:58 AM) :**  
oh.  
**Ice24 (09:58 AM) :**  
anyway, I'll stay here, catch up on my reading a bit. How's your control?  
**Ice24 (09:59 AM) :**  
Think you can take over for a while? Traips'll help you  
**Starlady (09:59 AM) :**  
I'm cool. what, talk sternly to the masses for you? sure.  
**Ice24 (09:59 AM) :**  
be careful  
**Starlady (09:59 AM) :**  
always.

  


* * *


	4. Reading

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Getting reaquainted, tentatively

  


* * *

**Rebuilding Burned Bridges**

The second day, St John reaches for the paper after Bobby has switched his computer on, though he skips the first twenty and the last five pages blathering about mutants, terrorists and calls for new laws and assassination. He doesn't see the tiny notice Bobby has drawn a blue circle around, the first snippet of any journalist to timidly speculate about the nursery incident being a sign of a rift inside the Brotherhood, an act of insubordination, covert and deliberate.

Staring avidly at his screen and seemingly not paying attention to the rustling of paper behind him, Bobby tries to imagine what it must have looked like. Pyro standing at the threshold, or maybe in the nursery doorway. Behind him the inferno, getting hotter and hotter, blazing. A confident smirk, maybe one drop of sweat betraying the exertion. The frightened cries of the children. A wall of flame blocking the view to the unharmed room, steadily building, all but exploding. Magneto watching, satisfied. Nodding. Turning.

St John still hasn't said a word, and while Bobby curses behind his teeth at the lack of progress on an essay he's due to turn in soon, he keeps quiet otherwise because he knows better than to try and force St John into a conversation he's not ready for. That they're not ready for, either of them.

At least several furtive glances over his shoulder confirm that his roommate is not quite as morose today. In the afternoon, he even gets out of his chair, ignores Bobby's fussing around with a dictionary and idly uncovers the few books on Bobby's shelf that are not connected to his study. Half reading, half dozing, he watches Bobby spending an hour or so at the phone again, arguing some point some study-group person is too dense to not keep getting absolutely wrong.

After dinner, they watch the news, and Bobby takes about half an hour talking to a person named Ella or something, but just like yesterday, he doesn't leave the room.

The silence between them is tense, but it's based on some kind of mutual understanding that makes it - not neutral, never neutral, but not uncomfortable, either.

  


* * *

  


**KittenX (02:43 PM) :**  
I'm running viruses again.  
**Ice24 (02:43 PM) :**  
What now?  
**KittenX (02:43 PM) :**  
Authorities are pressuring Hank. Again.  
**KittenX (02:44 PM) :**  
It's a mass panic panicking.  
**Ice24 (02:44 PM) :**  
Tell me they still don't know.  
**KittenX (02:44 PM) :**  
They don't. Nobody talks.  
**KittenX (02:44 PM) :**  
Doesn't mean they're backing off, though.  
**Ice24 (02:45 PM) :**  
Bless you and Traips.  
**Ice24 (02:45 PM) :**  
We'd be so dead without you  
**Ice24 (02:45 PM) :**  
real sorry mu-sicians  
**KittenX (02:45 PM) :**  
Bobby?  
**Ice24 (02:45 PM) :**  
Yes?  
**KittenX (02:45 PM) :**  
Tell me shielding you's not a mistake  
**Ice24 (02:45 PM) :**  
I'm good. It's all good.

  


* * *

  


By lunchtime the third day, St John has leafed through all the literature Bobby's got lying around that aren't in some way about economics. His brain has lost enough of the previous days' numbness that it's prepared to resume some kind of work, but the things just below the surface of his mind, he isn't ready to expose to close examination. Attempts at writing something would be futile, as any line of thought would inevitably end up on a blocked-out topic.

So, after about an hour of hesitation, he grabs a printed version of Bobby's essay and starts to liberally change the wording with his green-colored, non-lightery pen.

The subject matter soon bores him to tears, but the clumsy style it's written in is almost enough to make him smile. While his former roommate admittedly has improved slightly since he last did this, adding structure and legibility to a text written by Bobby is familiar, it's reassuring, and it's something he's always taken some pride in.

When he sees St John go for the print out of the corner of his eye, Bobby is on chat with Kitty while exasperatedly changing the layout of a certain thrice-cursed handout again. Between emphatically voicing his agreement with Shadowcat - no-one should dare to even consider pressuring Leech to produce more of the "cure" - and looking at his study-group partners' email and wanting to bang his head against the desk until it's bloody, he doesn't object to the interference. In fact, he even smiles at St John once. They work like that for the rest of the afternoon, not speaking but silently communicating, and in between, when one of them pauses to listen very hard, it's almost (almost) as if they're back at Xavier's and the past few years haven't happened.

  


* * *


	5. Talking

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ice cream does your soul good.

  


* * *

Hey Boss,  
what's up, did the soot and ashes manage to kill you? It's 12 o'clock, get on the net! Anyway, just giving you the heads up about last nights protesters. Still on a pretty normal level, zero snapped. Proud of me? I think it's blowing over. No telling what might've happened if whoever had let those kids burn.  
I'm off to the lecture. I might give you my notes if you're really nice to me. Oh, and what's with blackmailing my girlfriend to do your shopping?  
\- Traips

Traipsie,  
you're the snap-man.  
She's not your girlfriend. Want me to give her a nudge - will that get me your notes?  
\- 24/7 Bob

  


* * *

  


Bobby's feet are put up on the table, the smallest toe of his left foot preventing the melting of a large pot of ice cream. The two young men are sitting on the couch in comfortable silence, finishing their respective bowls, idly watching commercials with the sound turned off while waiting for the evening news. Bobby especially finds himself in an unexpectedly good mood. Feet encased in ice without actually freezing the table, he's feeling relaxed, despite his worry about the college's other five mutants depending on him, despite hiding and currently being perched next to his ex-roommate, who happens to be wanted for countless (thirty-five) acts of terrorism. He's pleased with himself; earlier, he sent off a linguistically flawless essay to his professor with 47 hours to spare, and in spite of his not having been able to meet up with the others again, the study group presentation is also ready to launch. He's also relieved; when Stella delivered their groceries for a non-sandwich dinner, she confirmed to him in hushed tones that anti-mutant hostility on campus has not increased in a noteworthy degree, and as a consequence, Amanda for once has managed to keep from flashing green.

All in all, things are going pretty well. Leaned back on the couch, head tilted back, he eyes the pot of ice cream, debating whether or not to get a second helping.

"He said _burn them_."

The pot of ice cream gets stuck to his foot. A suddenly tense hand pauses in mid-grasp. Dewdrop-blue eyes look up at St John, but St John's head is turned away, eyes fixed on the cap of his fidgety green pen.

"Just… _burn them_."

The young man's voice is hoarse and monotone. Bobby wishes he knew what to reply, his mind swirling with all the scenarios he's only imagined up to now, suddenly confirmed by those seven words. A grim expression on his face, he frowns at his toes; he doesn't know how to break the silence without saying the wrong thing or stammering. When his brain offers the only option he can think of, he reaches for the remote control and turns off the TV.

Flexing his toes and hoping the other hasn't noticed them frozen to the pot, he takes the empty bowl from St John's lap, refills it generously, and gingerly puts it back. Out of the corner of his eye, Bobby watches St John carefully take one spoonful of nougat. When he sees St John's shoulders relax marginally, Bobby knows his message has been understood, and for this evening, it is enough.

  


* * *


	6. Experimenting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tales about a so-called cure; surprise unions.

  


* * *

**Rebuilding Burned Bridges**

**AuntieEm (05:10 PM) :**  
Are you being a good little boy?  
**Ice24 (05:10 PM) :**  
You knew something would happen.  
**AuntieEm (05:10 PM) :**  
I always know. I am omniscient.  
**Ice24 (05:10 PM) :**  
You gave him the address.  
**AuntieEm (05:11 PM) :**  
He didn't believe me when I told him  
**AuntieEm (05:11 PM) :**  
Erica's gone mad  
**AuntieEm (05:11 PM) :**  
I wanted him to have a way out.  
**Ice24 (05:11 PM) :**  
Do they know?  
**AuntieEm (05:11 PM) :**  
That he went soft on them?  
**AuntieEm (05:11 PM) :**  
Sure.  
**AuntieEm (05:11 PM) :**  
That he did a runner?  
**AuntieEm (05:11 PM) :**  
They suspect.  
**AuntieEm (05:11 PM) :**  
That he's with you?  
**AuntieEm (05:11 PM) :**  
No.  
**Ice24 (05:11 PM) :**  
What would they do?  
**AuntieEm (05:12 PM) :**  
Oh, little ice cube  
**AuntieEm (05:12 PM) :**  
They're waiting for now  
**AuntieEm (05:12 PM) :**  
They can't risk leaving the safe houses  
**AuntieEm (05:12 PM) :**  
before the deadline  
**AuntieEm (05:12 PM) :**  
If Johnny-boy doesn't show up  
**AuntieEm (05:12 PM) :**  
They'll know for sure in two day's time  
**Ice24 (05:13 PM) :**  
What will they do?  
**AuntieEm (05:13 PM) :**  
I am brilliant and omniscient.  
**AuntieEm (05:13 PM) :**  
When I know, I'll tell you.

  


* * *

  


In a few day's time, Bobby will tell St John about the one time he injected himself with what the authorities don't really know anything about and thus still falsely describe as "the cure".

"I tried it once", he will say, and St John will stare at him with a mixture of disbelief and contempt. Bobby will be quick to add "not to really get rid of my powers," and upon St John's glare "minimal dose, it only lasted for a week." And St John will be extremely annoyed at the thought of Iceman even considering such a thing, but he'll nevertheless be amenable to listening to what follows Bobby's "I was curious".

"It was strange," Bobby will say, once he's certain St John won't throw a fit. "Once I got past the urge to puke my guts out - and man, watching Stels do that for years did so not prepare me for how awful that felt - there wasn't really anything I missed, at first. It was kinda fun to feel temperature changes on such different levels, to pick out clothes because they were warm and not because wearing shorts in winter looks weird. And Kitty dragged me on a skating ring cause she was convinced she'd beat me in a race if I was powerless."

He'll flash a grin that later will leave a tingle somewhere in St John at the recollection. "She - was - wroong," he'll sing-song gleefully, "I've got slightly better control when I make them myself and I feel more secure when I know the ice can't break, but ice or no, I'm a Goood on skates."

And St John will smirk at the cushion Bobby will have frozen in his excitement and chuckle, just a little, in spite of himself.

"But then I wanted to cool down a room and some such things, little things I do all the time and never notice, and I couldn't. Rogue kept telling me to stop whinging, as if she's any better before she needs her gloves back, but by the fifth day, it was driving me mad."

St John will try not to think of Magneto and how the X-Men forced him to go without his powers for months, but he'll still wonder how much of his own current position has been caused by that act.

Bobby will guess the direction of St John's thoughts, but he'll refuse to feel guilty about what they did in the heat of battle to save innocent people's lives. He'll finish his tale by saying "So now I know that if anyone ever discovers a "cure" that's permanent, I'll be dead before they make me take it. Still, it helped me understand Stels a bit, so all in all, it was a worthwhile experiment."

And St John will snort, and convey to Bobby quite clearly that in his opinion, willingly depriving oneself of one's power is very very stupid, but all the same, he'll have lost some of his apprehension about the two syringes stacked at the back of Bobby's fridge.

  


* * *

  


Bobby -

In case Storm didn't tell you, in that hospital the Brotherhood burned down - they'd made some progress in ground research to eventually suppress the X-gene through genetic manipulation. The authorities aren't really talkative right now (of course, they still expect us to save them) except when they're making demands (seriously, the last who was here, I seriously thought Colossus would punch him.) We're convinced, though, that this isn't the only place they've conducted this kind of research (when is it ever?), and if the Brotherhood knows where, there will be more attacks (which would be much easier to prevent if… aargh!).  
I know you said you need to stay on campus with your new friends, but I wish you'd at least come in for some training sessions (come on, at least a few simulations?). Piotr has gotten it into his head, though, that they'll need a few weeks to regroup now that Pyrojohn's left. (If he really left, where do you think he is now?) Hopefully, that will make those top notches calm down a bit, cause if they keep going like this, we might need to find Jimmy another safe place or there'll be serious bloodshed.

\- Rogue.

  


* * *


	7. Hoping

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bits and pieces sliding into the right places, again and for the first time.

  


* * *

"When it was soldiers," St John says, and Bobby jumps about two inches off his computer chair. He frantically picks a thin layer of ice off the keyboard before spinning around to face his friend. "When it was soldiers," St John repeats, "or cops, or security guards, or scientists or doctors…" He frowns at the pen in his hand, as if discovering it can't produce a flame for the first time. "…there was a reason." He stops and actually shoots a quick glance at Bobby before staring down at the pen again. "I know we don't agree on that, never will, but I always knew exactly why I injured or killed them."

And just like that, the word is in the room between them. _Killed_, pronounced without regret, a six letter word, matter-of-fact. Bobby bites his lip hard, tries not to break St John off with the scathing remarks he feels bubbling up. Brotherhood insiders aside, he probably knows the head count of exactly how many people Pyro has killed better than anyone.

It's too late to judge now. If he'd wanted to condemn Pyro for his Brotherhood actions, he should have shut the door in St John's face, taken him out, signalled to Storm that the X-Men should come and collect him. It's his own fault, and he doesn't really want to be anywhere else than he is now.

"I didn't believe her, when she said he'd gone mad," says St John in a low, thin voice, and Bobby knows that if he were to change his mind, turned him in to either the X-Men or the government, he wouldn't be surprised, wouldn't be mad. For the hundredth time since Ms Monroe's last call, Iceman wonders how Ororo, how Kitty, how any of them can actually trust him to make the right decision.

_These children owe you their lives_, he wants to say. _Magneto would've killed them himself if you hadn't saved them_, but there is no easy way to bring up heroics when the head count estimate in Bobby's head also went up when they were watching the news after the stint at the hospital.

_There is no terrorist named St John Allerdyce_, he wants to shout, to scream until it's true. _Kitty destroyed the evidence, the only records they ever had are of some punk called Pyro_, but he can't, not yet, the statement filled too heavily with expectations for St John to stay. Laying that on his guest would be too soon, way too soon, so he goes to the kitchen to get another cup of coffee, listens to St John breathe, words caught in his throat.

  


* * *

  


Some undetermined time this fifth evening, Bobby startles awake when his couch-numbed sagging body lands on top of St John's. A few stunned seconds pass, seconds in which St John doesn't push Bobby away, in which Bobby doesn't recoil. Greyish green and blue eyes remain locked into each other, stay engaged in a non-hostile staring contest where neither participant registers anything but the widening of the other's pupils, the iris' changes of color.

Suddenly the flat is just another joint in a somewhat fancy hall of residence where two chests are rising and falling calmly, where two young men who have known each other for years are feeling each other's breath on chins and faces.

The angle is awkward - it doesn't take long before the weight of Bobby's body is sending a battalion of ants to John's leg, getting in position and waiting hungrily while it falls asleep.

The stirring of something that doesn't have anything to do with ants whatsoever is welcomed with a sultry smile and a half-embarrassed grin. A bitten-off moan is followed by slightly heavier breathing, but it's shaken away, dismissed with a chuckle, acknowledged but left ignored because it's too soon for this, too - five years in the making but still too soon.

It's not too soon, however, for St John's arms to slide around Bobby's shoulders, to pull him in. It's not too soon for Bobby to re-arrange his legs in a way that is much more comfortable, to settle down.

It's not too soon to simply be lying on the couch tangled up in each other, not admitting but not denying to be snuggling, listening to St John's heartbeat and Bobby's breathing and the narration of the historical documentary that's still on on TV.

  


* * *


	8. Melting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shaking foundations.

  


* * *

Hi Jimmy,  
how you holdin up, sport? Hope you're not too bothered by the hot shots. Just remember, the raindrops and claws will protect you like crazy, and you know Auntie Em and I will never let anything happen to you.  
Wanna come for a visit, take things off your mind a bit? Dwelling on people's mu-sical ignorance gets kinda impossible when squished by Amanda.  
Speaking of squish, what's that I hear about Hank turning rogue Mary's blood into an antidote any day now? It'll matter even less, then, what they do.

See ya,  
\- 24/7 Bob

  


* * *

  


It's around noon on the sixth day that he meets the first members of the 24/7. He is reading through a report on the mutant-related mood on campus that Bobby compiled for Kitty, inserting missing commas with his flashy green pen, and the next thing he knows, he's standing in the middle of an unfamiliar apartment with no recollection of how he got there. Amidst the overturned furniture, there's a couch, much like the one he's slept on for six nights, and he's one second short of burning the place down on pure instinct when he spots the sobbing young woman sitting hunched over on it.

Bobby is kneeling at her feet with another student St John vaguely thinks he's seen before, talking quietly, apparently trying to soothe her. The stranger's fingers hover just above her shoulder, wanting to comfort but not quite daring to touch. Bobby's left hand is iced over, maintaining a firm grip on the woman's arm, and St John remembers this, remembers powers going on overdrive and a cool hand on the back of his neck, helping him focus.

He barely has time to ask what the hell is going on, much less demand an explanation from the college students when the abrupt yet quiet scene before him is interrupted by the insistent ring of a cell phone. The student with the red streak in his blond hair groans and reluctantly gets to his feet to answer. Even from a few feet away and completely ignored by everybody else, St John can hear the scream.

_"The hell, Traipsie?"_

The young man flinches and scowls into his phone while Bobby obliviously continues to talk to the young woman in hushed tones. "None of your teacups knocked over?" he asks, voice strained. "Stella broke off a four-point-one. Sorry to black-out your day, but we're talking full-on cover mode."

After a beat, the person on the other end sounds a lot calmer when she asks _"What happened?"_

"Don't know, we're still getting her down. Could've been a lot worse, but the Boss got here."

There's another reply to that which St John cannot make out, the man addressed as 'Traipsie' says "Later, 'Manda," and shuts the phone off. He looks down at the two people by the couch, then sighs and starts to pick up the furniture. He is shuffling together a jumbled stack of papers when he notices St John.

"Oh, damn," he says. "Did I get you full-on?"

"What?" says St John, blinking. The other man drags a hand over his face.

"Shit, I did; I blocked out the Boss and Stels, but not you." He grimaces and holds out a hand toward St John. "You're the soot and ashes. Marcus Traips, or 'Traipsie' if you go by them," he nods at the sniffling woman named Stella and Bobby.

St John is still unsure what is going on, but it's clear that he's standing in the apartment of one of Bobby's mutant friends. _Who would've thought. College boy Robert Drake has on-campus mutant friends. _

The man frowns at him. "I snapped you good, this is the best I can do," and he flicks a finger against St John's forehead.

St John inadvertedly takes a step back and stumbles at the sudden onslaught of disjointed images. He takes a deep breath and concentrates on the three he gets most clearly; Bobby dropping a book and muttering "Shit", lamps and windows rattling; Bobby sprinting down the hallway with St John at his heels; Bobby skipping to a halt and breaking a door down; and all the while the feeling of the ground shaking under his feet.

Missing minutes - quite possibly less than ten - recovered as well as it's apparently going to get, he shakes his head to refocus on the present. He fixes his gaze on the mind-snapper, Traipsie, who, considering he seems to know who St John is and what he just did, should look a lot more nervous.

And why the hell'd he call Bobby "Boss"?

"Are you the reason no-one's ratted me out yet?" he asks, thinking back to the day he arrived here reeking of smoke under the eyes of several witnesses.

The man shrugs. "The reason for that is the ice cube. I just tweaked them a bit."

Well. Keeping the authorities off Pyro's back certainly counts in the stranger's favor, so maybe he shouldn't get his ass fried for messing with St John's head just yet. "How long's that take," St John says instead of "thanks", indicating Stella and Bobby and frowning at the sight of Stella's arm; it was white before, now it's looking blue-ish.

Traipsie bites his lip. "Not long, I hope," he answers. "Been quite a while since it was this bad."

The room has almost been tidied up completely when Stella finally extracts her arm from Bobby's grip, sighs heavily and leans back. Bobby doesn't move, keeps his eyes on her, but it seems that whatever crisis there was is over. Traipsie walks over to the sink, gets a washcloth to help thaw Stella's alarmingly ugly-blue arm, but this is something St John can do.

A bit wary, because these people don't know him and he doesn't particularly want to have his brain re-snapped, he extends a hand towards the frozen limb and arches an eyebrow in question. Stella looks to Bobby, and when he nods, she swallows hard and lets St John apply the lightest touch with his fingertips.

He hasn't used his powers for almost a week, and the last time he did he had to exert a control so rigid he almost passed out from it. This is similar in many ways, but instead of preventing a fire of the hottest heat he can manage from crossing the boundary he's set for it, he has to be careful to emit no more than the tiniest bit of warmth. From the look of her arm, she and Bobby have done this a lot, and they know what they're doing because he hasn't _heard_ of any earthquakes in the area and Stella hasn't lost a single finger yet, but the procedure has left smaller versions of the scars St John has on his own wrists, left there by Bobby's very special kind of frost.

It's tricky, deliberately using this side-effect that has kept him warm but otherwise never done him much good. It's not as easy as you'd think to judge what body temperature a person should have when your own tends to run that much higher, but St John's had to learn to assess an average difference. It takes about two minutes, two minutes in which there's no sound safe a soft wince as Stella's blood slowly, slowly starts circulating normally again.

Bobby grins brightly at him when he lets go, and Stella cradles her arm and smiles at him, a bit embarrassed and not a little mortified at her loss of control.

It occurs to him later, when he's back safely in the confines of Bobby's room, that this is maybe the fourth time in eleven years total that he's used his powers under the eyes of others and heard a "thank you".

  


* * *

  


Hi Warren,  
how's Europe? You as packed with work as me? We're still waiting for postcards. We _do_ actually want more than your money, man. Oh, and you need to call Jimmy.

\- 24/7 Bob

  


* * *


	9. Planning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Of secret societies and making plans.

  


* * *

Hi Bobster,  
Kits just mailed me Logan's attempt at a budget. I need to drown myself right now to get rid of the scary numbers. I swear, you are soo brave for volunteering to play accountant to the raindrops and claws. Just don't die of boredom before you're done studying, please? Else they'll stick me with the shit. If you ask me - no matter what the raindrops say - the presence of sparks I hear coming your way in your life is a good thing.  
The Cambridge mu-sicians we met last night seem friendly. I'll give you details when you see me!

Love, Jubilee

PS: London is awesome. Trust fund boy is absolutely spoiling me.

  


* * *

  


It's a nice place the 24/7 have rented. From the outside it looks like nothing but a run-down warehouse under permanent construction, but one of the rules no-one needed to repeat to St John about mutants with money and resources is that the cellar is always the most important part of a building. The gym that's been installed in the warehouse's stockroom is a big fat lot more low-key than any of the Brotherhood gyms Pyro's been in the last few years, a far cry from what he remembers of the Danger Room. Still, St John's trained eyes are quick to pick up on the obvious signs that Forge must have been over every corner of it, and that's disregarding the complicated procedures to get inside in the first place. He itches to ask Bobby why he recognized Mystique's hand in the security sequences, feels like he's been handed another missing piece to a puzzle he doesn't yet know the scope of.

It's not a Brotherhood safe house nor the Mansion, but there are reinforced walls made to survive major temperature changes and in all probability earthquakes up to eight or nine on the Richter scale, isolated elaborately enough to confine all sound. There are training mats designed to absorb and quickly get rid of large amounts of water, a tree planted square in the middle of them.

St John is surprised at how at ease he feels, surrounded by a bunch of mutants who're all bound to know who he is, but they seem relaxed around him all the same, simply because Bobby is. All afternoon, he watches the six college mutants go about their business and waits for the inevitable questions, interrogations, but they don't come. Instead, the green-flashing girl called Amanda does _something _to his small fire that has him stare at her speechless, has his mind reeling at the potential, dumbstruck with awe at the embers being fed by the oxygen she emits from across the room.

Whatever takes place inside this gym is something Mystique wanted him to see, probably since long before she gave him the address to Bobby's apartment. It's been a week since he first fell asleep on Bobby's couch, a week in which nothing and the whole world has changed.

Glancing at the far wall clock, he knows that at this moment, Magneto and Madrox are approaching the safe house in Denver from opposite directions, in different vehicles and at different speeds. He knows that Magneto is already thinking of the meeting and calculating possibilities, while all current versions of Madrox are anticipating and discussing the cookies Alvers will have made. He knows that once there, the Brotherhood's primary attack squad will wait for about an hour, just in case Pyro doesn't show up (will never show up again) because of traffic. St John knows that when his young lieutenant doesn't turn up dutifully on his doorstep to beg forgiveness for his momentary insolence, Magneto will be surprised, will be blindsided by the reality of St John's desertion even though he really should have been able to read the signs. He'll not be able to grasp the concept of the young boy who boarded his hijacked helicopter like a lost puppy having turned into this, a former soldier who is quite content in his best friend's secret college mutant gym two states away from the attack he knows the Brotherhood is planning.

St John is making plans of his own, has just started thinking about the possibilities that are now open to him. He found a brochure full of the college's range of courses in one of Bobby's shelves; he might even start attending school again. If she's on such good speaking terms with the 24/7, maybe Mystique can tweak the records, maybe he'll ask her to do one more thing for him.

Relinquishing control over the fire and idly leaning back against the wall, he lets his eyes fall on the corner where Bobby and Traipsie are sparring, Iceman stoically advancing on the other man, tiny snowflakes in his hands, blinking ferociously every time Traipsie rids his memories of his plans.

In two days, the next hospital will go down. Bobby must at least suspect St John did some recon, knows the where and at least the when that was planned, but he hasn't asked, and after seven days of silent agreements St John knows he won't.

The tiniest hint of a grin spreads over his face as Bobby manages to freeze his opponent to the ground, and as the clock slowly ticks nearer and then past the deadline, he wonders how it would be like to spar with Bobby like that again, if maybe next week it will be possible, after everything, to set fire against ice just for fun.

  


* * *

* * *

  



End file.
